


To Love and be Loved

by Sincestiel



Series: Tumblr Prompts [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Multi, No Dialogue, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: Castiel has watched them for so long.  He’s watched them die for each other.  He’s watched them live for each other.  He’s watched them love each other.  As brothers and as so much more.  He knows what they do is wrong.  At least by Heaven’s standards.  But he’s not so sure he’s living by those rules anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt: wincestiel (sam/dean/cas) where cas admits he knows about sam and Dean (wincest)and that he loves them both
> 
> This isn't exactly what was requested. And I feel like I do that quite often. For that I apologize. But sometimes it's almost like I can't control what happens. Forgive me.

Castiel has watched them for so long. He’s watched them die for each other. He’s watched them live for each other. He’s watched them love each other. As brothers and as so much more. He knows what they do is wrong. At least by Heaven’s standards. But he’s not so sure he’s living by those rules anymore.

And there’s something so… beautiful about it. Something almost ethereal about the expression on Sam’s face when Dean’s lips drag over his Adam’s apple. Something so melodic in the way Dean’s moans vibrate through the air as Sam’s tongue swirls over a peaked nipple. And he thinks the picture the two of them make, wrapped around each other and tangled so irrevocably together – body and soul – could find a fitting home on the wall of any art museum. Even the Louvre doesn’t boast anything remotely approaching such a level of exquisiteness.

Cas hasn’t wanted for much in his long life. Before Dean he’d only wanted to serve. Before Sam he’d only wanted Dean. And now. Now.

Now he wants with sheer abandon. So deeply and profoundly that he watches from the darkened corner of the motel room without even attempting to shield himself from their view. But either they don’t notice, or they don’t care. Because Sam lays Dean out over the cheap bedspread and endeavors to press his lips to every available inch of skin he can find on his brother’s body. And Cas watches. Always just watching.

Until he isn’t anymore.

He’s not sure what finally draws him from the shadows. Perhaps it’s the quivering hitch in Dean’s voice when he whimpers at the feel of Sam’s tongue tracing the shape of his hipbone. Or maybe it’s the soft slope of Sam’s muscular back as he trails his mouth across Dean’s abdomen. It could be the ache in his own chest urging him to reach out and touch. 

Whatever it is, he finds himself shedding the trench coat he’s always worn like armor and then the tie he only still wears because Dean likes to straighten it. He’s fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, his hands suddenly stupid and clumsy, when Dean’s eyes flutter open and land on him. Castiel stills, a moment of panic overtaking him as he stares into the depths of Dean’s kind, green eyes.

The Righteous Man, Castiel thinks. And he is. Even now, even lost in carnal sin with his own flesh and blood, this man is the most righteous man he has ever known. There is so much good in him that Castiel struggles to find a word to aptly describe him. And nothing comes to mind. All the world’s languages and those of both Heaven and Hell are devoid of any word which could possibly encompass all that Dean Winchester is.

Dean smiles, soft and welcoming. When he holds out a hand, inviting Castiel closer, Sam stills and lifts his head, dark, hazel eyes sweeping up and down Castiel’s body through a fringe of shaggy hair. Finally, a grin, boyish and mischievous, tugs at the corner of his mouth.

The boy with the demon blood. The boy he feared would be not only Dean’s damnation, but the damnation of the world itself. And he’s still that as well. A potential vessel for evil, for Lucifer himself. His heart still pumps traces of demon blood through his veins and sometimes Castiel still worries. But there’s good in him too. And every time he’s faced with his own destiny, he proves he’s more than what the fates have predicted of him. So much more. He’s never stopped proving that he’s worthy of the faith Dean places in him, the faith Castiel has begun to offer.

Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam. Castiel could no sooner love just one of them than he could _not_ love either of them. And he knows they are not his to have. He knows that, as an angel of the Lord, he should be above such base desires. And he certainly shouldn’t take part in such taboo and sinful copulation. But when Dean’s long fingers snag in the hem of his half buttoned shirt and pull him forward, there’s no turning back.

Between the two of them, four large, warm hands twisting and turning – pulling at clothing and stripping him bare in more ways than one – they manage to get Castiel positioned over Dean. Dean’s body is extraordinary as human bodies go. Or as Castiel’s intimate knowledge of human bodies go. Powerful and strong, peppered with shiny pink scars that speak of hard won battles and lives saved. And Sam’s body, pressed tight against the back of Castiel’s own, is just as phenomenal. Long and sleek, tightly corded with muscle and scattered with the same fascinating map of old wounds long since healed.

And they let Castiel touch. One hand roams over the soft, warm skin of Dean’s chest, playing over his collarbones and his ribs. He ghosts over nipples and his navel and he finally comes to rest with his hand splayed over Dean’s pelvis. And all the while his other hand is reaching behind him, gliding up and down Sam’s side and hip, tugging him closer.

Castiel gasps when Sam’s erection, so very hard and damp at the tip, presses into his lower back. On some instinct that Castiel imagines is solely a leftover from his vessel’s human years, he leans forward and tilts his hips, pressing his backside toward Sam’s groin. Sam whines and grips his hips with his huge, callused hands and Castiel shivers.

There’s no discussion that Castiel can hear. But he sees the way Dean is looking back and forth between the two of them and he knows a silent conversation is taking place. Nothing that could translate to words, nothing that anyone other than the brothers would every fully understand. But it’s there nonetheless. Questions and answers and acceptance. And before Castiel realizes what’s happening, Sam’s hand wraps around the base of Castiel’s eagerly throbbing length and Dean’s legs are shifting and lifting to slide around Castiel’s waist.

Sam guides him into the already prepared wet heat of Dean’s body and their groans of pleasure mingle between them as Dean pulls him in and down, bringing their lips together as their lower bodies join. Dean kisses sweetly and softly and though Castiel has kissed others, it’s never felt anything like this. It feels more like perfection than anything Castiel has ever experienced, in Heaven or on Earth.

Castiel stills once he’s seated as deeply as possible and Dean allows him to kiss him gently but increasing in intensity as Sam works his long digits into him. Slowly and surely he’s carefully stretched open and when Sam finally fits against him, sliding slowly into his entrance, Dean holds him, arms wrapped tightly around Castiel’s back. And Castiel just buries his face in Dean’s neck, certain that his strong arms are the only thing keeping him from shattering into a million pieces as his few remaining defenses fall victim to these amazing men.

They move together, Castiel rocking between them like a buoy in the ocean, as their passion builds. Sam’s lips are never idle, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses up and down the back of Castiel’s neck and over his ear. And occasionally Castiel has enough sense to turn his head and find Sam’s mouth with his own in between sweet little nips of Dean’s mouth. And when his bliss builds to heights beyond even his own comprehension, Dean holds him as he hits his peak, spilling almost endlessly into the clenching channel of Dean’s body.

And then they guide him gingerly to the side, making sure he’s comfortably slotted against Dean’s side before Sam knees up into the space between Dean’s thighs. And as much as he misses the warmth of the inside of Dean and the ecstasy of being filled by Sam, he loves to watch the two of them together. And so he contents himself with trailing his fingers down Dean’s chest until he has his turgid length in his palm. It’s no hardship to stroke Dean as Sam thrusts into him. In fact, aside from being between them, it’s the single most enjoyable thing he’s ever done.

Dean alternates between kissing him and kissing Sam until he seems to lose all capacity for thinking and then his mouth just catches and drags against Castiel’s. Dean is flushed and sweaty and making the most glorious sounds Castiel has ever heard – better even than the hymns of praise sung by the Heavenly Host. And finally, with Sam muttering low and encouraging, Dean jerks and spills over his hand a mere second before Sam shudders and curses above him, pressing deep and twitching through his own release.

Once they’ve caught their breath, Sam eases free of Dean’s body and goes in search of a washcloth, and Dean turns to Castiel, smiling that same breathtaking smile that Castiel is sure can be blamed for their current situation. And he loves it even more.

Dean’s trembling fingers run tentatively over the side of Castiel’s face as they stare at each other across the expanse of a pillow. And Castiel allows his eyes to fall closed under Dean’s explorations. After several seconds, Dean urges him closer and Castiel goes willingly, letting Dean’s lips and tongue taste and tease at his own mouth until he feels Sam’s hand on his hip.

Smiling softly, Sam cleans them both up and then he crawls back onto the bed with them. It’s a tight squeeze as none of them are small men, but he doesn’t feel crowded wedged between them. He feels loved and needed and when he meets each of their gazes briefly before they drift off to sleep, he has no doubt they feel the same way. They’ll be time for words later. For now he just drifts in a sated haze as they sleep soundly on either side of him.


End file.
